


Nine Moments

by s0ckpupp3t



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drug Addiction, Explicit Language, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ckpupp3t/pseuds/s0ckpupp3t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to pin down when you love somebody. Sometimes, Frank realizes, there are moments. Just moments in time when he's realized he loves Gerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Moments

It's hard to pin down when you love somebody. Sometimes, Frank realizes, there are moments. Just moments in time when he's realized he loves Gerard.

***

It's when he's tuning, and the new E string is broken in, and he starts to noodle around a bit, and Gerard starts to hum along. With anybody else, it would be incredibly irritating. With Gerard, it's like he knows where Frank's brain is, knows which frets he'll hit next.  
So because it's Gerard, he grins and lifts an eyebrow, changing chords and then taking a scale up to the octave. And because it's Frank, Gerard just closes his eyes and hums right along, never missing a beat, never having to cover anything up.

They wind up jamming like this once a week or so. It's an unspoken rule that melodies that get created like this are never turned into songs. Well, okay, not entirely unspoken. It's Gee, what can you do, and Frank can remember that intense look on his face when they were drunkenly musing one night, that I'm-about-to-pontificate look, before he started explaining that some things are meant to be transitory, some things should just exist and fade away and leave you better for having witnessed them.

***

It's when he's past drunk and not yet hung over, and he realizes that he should get some water. Water's really important. Maybe some ibuprofen. Before falling asleep. Or maybe he should have another rum and coke? No, water. And then his stomach makes a weird noise and the back of his head twinges, and then his forehead hurts because somebody just threw something at it.

Oh. It's a half-full water bottle. Oh. Gerard isn't wearing pants. Oh, and he's holding Advil. Gerard is smart.

***

It's when he's waiting in the studio, about to lay down another track but Gerard's on the mic, so he listens to the new vocals taking shape on top of the guitar parts in the headphones, and something's not right, and then:

"Fuck! Fucking shit. Sorry. From the end of the last verse? Shit, yeah, okay," and a slow sigh that shakes with frustration. But then the backing track cues up, and a quick, even breath - even his breathing is professional, suddenly - and whatever was off is gone, but the echo of heavy breathing and swearing lingers in Frank's ears.

***

It's when they're trying to eat and Gerard is ignoring his plate in favor of muttering and scribbling on a napkin. It's only like the hundredth time that Frank has seen this, and it's still amazing. It's always amazing, watching someone create something.  
Sometimes it's a sheet of Bristol board and some ovals that suddenly turn into an entire scene, and sometimes it's a snatch of a tune that gets hummed over and over and fucking OVER in the van or the bus or the kitchen and suddenly it's a melody, and sometimes it's a napkin at fucking Denny's.  
Frank leans over his shoulder and doesn't look at the napkin, it's better when you don't look, and he can't write lyrics if Gee falls over from malnourishment. "Gerard..." Frank coos in his ear, and Ray snickers when Gerard doesn't appear to hear. "I'm going to eat your hash browns now."

"Hmmm?" Fucker never looks up until Frank's fork crosses the plate.  
"Hey! Mine!"  
Frank smiles and exchanges a knowing look with Ray.

***

It's when you see someone destroying himself, and you don't know why and you can't stop it.

Frank half-carries Gerard, again. He smells worse than usual, with an extra side of vomit. "Do you think you can shower?"

"Nnnnfgh. Y'know. Limi... lemon... limmee. Lemony Snicket."

Frank had only heard it a hundred times before. He could see Gerard from months and months ago, pulling his hair over his eyes and looking up from a sketchbook.

"It's not that I don't like showering. Showers are great, once you're in them and all wet and stuff. I just hate GETTING wet, and GETTING dry. It's the liminal states, the in-between processes. I want to BE wet, and then BE dry, and not have that moment when you know you have to stick your hair under the showerhead. I hate that moment. Bleh."

Quietly, Frank wondered if it was the same with being trashed. Maybe Gee liked being trashed and hated the feeling of sobering up so much that he just decided to stay that way. It's slow, the way these things happen. You begin to accept that somebody just needs This Thing in his life to function, and you write it off as borderline-helpful, and then it's a long time before you realize he's killing himself.  
By then, you're an accomplice to murder. At the beginning, you just buy some extra beer, that's just taking your friends into account. That's nothing. But then you're picking up a couple of fifths of vodka or something, and telling yourself if you don't, the new song will never get finished. And then you're scrolling through your cell phone wondering who "Dan D. in Detroit" is and you realize you've got one of your friend's dealers on speed dial, and then you realize you've got MORE than one. Well, that's touring for you.

"Limminy Snicket. Jiminy Cricket. You're kinda little. If you were green, you could be my Jiminy Cricket. You'd be hot in that hat."

Frank snaps back to himself. "Liminal states, yeah, I remember." They finally reach the bathroom door and Frank pushes it open, pushes Gerard inside, reaches inside the shower stall and pulls on the tap. A rush of water from the showerhead, and it's cold, and Gerard plants his feet, still monloguing aimlessly.

Shittiest Jiminy Cricket EVER, Frank thinks. Helpful, right. Just because his best friend wants to kill himself doesn't mean Frank needs to help. "What is it about being sober that's worse than death?" and he doesn't realize he said it out loud until Gerard's voice stops.

Frank looks over, and the way Gee is looking at him... the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth could be a grimace, but no, it's a sad smile. His eyes are old and quiet, and Frank would curse himself or apologize, but hopefully neither of them will remember tonight with any real clarity.

Anyway, the water's hot, finally.

"Okay, come on, shower." Frank tugs at Gerard's shirt.

"Sometimes nothing. Sometimes everything except you." Gerard looks at the shower and frowns.

"What?"

"I'm not getting in without you."

"...fine." Frank takes his cellphone and wallet out of his pockets, sets them on the bathroom counter, and starts feeling for Gerard's. But there's nothing in his pockets. Thank god he'd taken off his shoes earlier.

Frank steps into the shower, and adjusts the spray down, makes sure it's not too hot.  
"Alright, I'm here, come on, water's fine."

"You're wearing clothes."

"So are you. We need to wash that shirt. And your pants. And you never let me take them away when you're sober. So c'mere." and Frank just grabs his arm and pulls him in to the stall. It's not the roomiest situation ever, but at least there's no bathtub edge to navigate.

Gerard wraps his arms lazily around Frank's neck while Frank fumbles with the shampoo bottle.  
"Hold still." and Gerard does, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back into the water with a wince, and stays quiet while Frank runs soapy fingers over his scalp.

Frank cups the water away from Gee's forehead and ears, rinsing away the suds and watching Gerard's throat, tilted away from him, pale. His adam's apple bobs when he swallows. Frank looks at the skin, looks at Gerard's closed eyes, and presses a kiss just above his adam's apple, below the chin.

Gerard just makes a contented noise, and Frank finds the soap and starts washing Gee's t-shirt. (It was black once.) By rubbing a soap bar over the warm, fragile chest of the best friend and bandmate and shithead addict he's just kissed. Fuck. Frank shakes his head and moves the soap up each arm around his neck and back down, then around to Gerard's back. There isn't room, so Gerard leans forward, presses closer to Frank, practically cheek-to-cheek. And Frank just listens to Gerard breathe into his right ear while he slowly works Irish Spring into funk-infused cotton.

Eventually, the shirt is as clean as it's going to get, and he has to work on the jeans. Which is how Frank winds up kneeling at Gerard's feet in the shower, and standing back up to make sure Gerard's awake and rinsed. And realizes that Gerard's not wearing the shirt. And he's unbuttoned his jeans and is stepping out of them. And Frank is staring.

"What?"

"Um. Nothing." Frank clears his throat and takes off his own shirt so it doesn't look like he's blushing.

"Can't sleep in these, right?"

"Yeah, you might improve the smell of your bed if you did." And then Gerard smacks his shoulder and Frank feels like everything might be okay. And instantly hates himself for hoping that things would actually change that easily, and hands Gerard a towel.

"Thanks."

There's a lump in Frank's throat. Gerard is clean, smiling, and naked.

***

It's when Gerard crawls into Frank's bunk in the middle of the night instead of doing something stupid.

***

It's when the band's been fighting. Being in a band is worse than being married, because it seems to involve even *more* listening and cooperation, and because in Frank's band, there's way more than one other person.

The band gets tense. Then Mikey mentions to Frank how bad everyone's getting on his nerves. So Frank vents to Gerard. So Gerard has a two-hour long airy discussion with Ray. Then Bob... it goes on and on, until Frank's life is completely taken over by metabitching.

This happens about once every four months. But then, there's a gig. Or a recording session, or a rehearsal. And EVERYTHING clicks. And everyone is on track, and feeding off each other, and surprising each other. It's little things, like out of the blue Gerard will give the "solo" nod on a song he usually doesn't, because the crowd seems into it. Then Ray goes NUTS, so everyone else gives it their all and it winds up that Gerard is starting the next verse to huge roars of applause from the crowd.

That's the sort of moment when Frank thinks, "This is why I'm here."

That's the sort of moment when he realizes that they might be a band of fuckups. Frank might fuck up any minute. But he has four people to catch him if he does.

***

It's when he gets a new tattoo. It's like being sewn into his skin. A vibrating pain that embosses his soul onto his body for safekeeping.  
The first two days it always leaks ink and a little blood, the third day is when it starts to feel weird, the fourth and fifth days are when a new tattoo always itches, the sixth and seventh days it flakes and peels a little.  
It's usually around the ninth day that Gerard manages to get him alone and get a good look at whatever the new art is. He always makes sure there's light, and then he just... examines Frank. Not like an object, but not like a person, either. Like a masterpiece. It makes Frank's skin prickle, and he always feels a brief pang for anyone who's never been looked at like this. Considered and appreciated, like, pixel by pixel. But that's not his favorite part.

Frank's favorite part is when Gerard traces the new lines with his fingers. And then his tongue. The skin always seems to be the most sensitive it's ever been, and every touch is a jolt, focused and urgent messages going everywhere from nerves he didn't know he had.

***

It's when they're touring and Gee goes from twitchy to CRAZY in one day. He has two pots of coffee for breakfast and spends the afternoon babbling and jumping out of his skin. A three-hour gig would usually cure that, but Gerard seems to have decided to bring the entire audience into whatever frenetic phase he's going through.  
Five songs in, he's got them wrapped around his finger. After an hour and a half, it seems like articles of clothing come off everybody- band, audience, sound crew, it doesn't matter. After two and a half hours, Gerard has groped every person he can get his hands on, and is strutting like a peacock back to Frank.

They wind up doing three encores, and Frank is so glad they don't have to get to another city by tomorrow, and they can stay in a hotel.  
Mikey's dead on his feet. Ray is riding high on crowd-based adrenaline, but he'll crash in twenty minutes. Frank's a little jumpy. And Gerard is just as crazy as he was this afternoon, except now it's like he's been... validated or whatever, so he's gone from twitchy and self-deprecating to twitchy and euphoric.

Finally they arrive, and Frank hasn't been sure quite what to expect when they get alone.

Gerard pushes him against the wall, tongue down Frank's throat, and it's good. But Frank could do without the humming. Eventually he gets his basketcase vocalist naked on the bed and he's gone from humming to singing now, and Frank's gone from kissing to licking, down and down.

So when Gerard is halfway through the first verse of a new song (not one of theirs, thank god, the Misfits) Frank looks up with a grin and says, "Okay, but you'd better get through all the verses."

Gerard smiles back, and sings, "Anything as long as it's mine," and Frank enjoys the way he gasps through the lyrics.

By the time Gerard gets to the bridge, his hips are lifted off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, brow furrowed with concentration.  
Frank supports Gerard's ass with his left hand, guitar callouses making bruises in the pale skin, and cradles Gerard's cock with his right, sliding his mouth away for a moment when Gerard trails off, so he can murmur, "Don't you stop..."

Gerard whimpers, hips jerking, and the next line turns into a wail of "Walk me through thegraveyardfuckFrankie..." as Frank opens his mouth and then his throat, swallowing until his nose is pressed against Gerard's skin and suddenly this song is a lot faster and has way more four-letter words in it.

Yeah, he gets through all the verses. Barely.


End file.
